Chapter 7 : Heated Moments

*Trinity's POV*

Before I knew it, the weekend had come and gone. Not that I did much. I only really ever left the house these days for work and to see Arielle, who lived nearby. But this weekend, I opted to remain at home, curled up watching reality TV and spending time one-on-one with my baby.

Okay, I used that as an excuse. I spent a lot of time one-on-one with the baby since Nate passed—mostly every weekend—but I truly needed rest this time. The past week was horrendous, and I needed to ensure I was capable on Monday morning.

Only, when it finally rolled around and I reached to shut off my alarm clock, I realized I was nowhere near ready for the day that Mr. Withers had planned.

I took the last bite of my peanut butter sandwich as I did up my seatbelt in my car. I hadn’t even fully shut the car door when my phone chimed in my pocket. A text. I had been getting so many texts since I started the job that I had to put a sound notification on instead of the vibration to make sure I was notified as soon as someone from work messaged me. Only, I didn’t recognize this one.

I leaned back awkwardly in the car seat, trying to pull out the phone from my pant pockets while simultaneously trying to get it around the baby bump. After a few strenuous moments, I successfully got it out.

I pressed my thumbprint in and then slid to read the text message in full. It was from the Withers Records main line and was pretty straightforward, but I still found myself sighing in exasperation.

‘Hey, Trinity, it's Amber! Sorry for the intrusion, but I pulled your number from the employee file.’

I smiled at the message. Amber really did seem so nice. Another text popped up as I was reading. So, she was a double texter. Noted.

‘Matthew just came back from the recording booth and said he needs a gift picked up for Anne, and he wants it ASAP. You can use the company card that you got for the dry-cleaning and just go pick her up something nice.’

A few seconds later, another appeared

‘A designer bag is always a safe bet with her,’ it read.

I rolled my eyes heavily. Of course, it was. Then I found myself wondering what it was for. Amber didn’t specify why. Was it a birthday gift? A thank you gift? Did I need to get a card? Or, was it a potentially ‘just because’ gift? Boyfriends did that, right? And I’m assuming wealthy ones did it more often.

At that last one, if I was being honest, I felt a pang of jealousy. Here I was working for him because I needed the money and had to find a way to support my baby that was coming soon, but both of them could just drop hundreds or thousands of dollars at the drop of a hat.

It didn’t feel fair that there were people struggling to feed themselves and make rent, while others made thousands in one day.

The rising sunlight hit me in my eye, causing me to squint and realize I hadn't messaged back. I unlocked my screen again and pondered for a moment before sending my message. For a moment, I considered asking Amber what she thought of Anne.

Maybe the night I met Anne, she had had a bad day. I couldn’t be so quick to judge someone; I knew how much it hurt when people were quick to judge me when I was looking for a job at 7 months pregnant. Yet, something was off about her, and I had a suspicion my guess wasn’t too far off.

Then, I caught myself at the last moment. As much as I wanted to gossip, that would not be professional, especially if it was about our boss' girlfriend. Not to mention, I knew Amber was a good person, but I didn’t know her entirely. I had to be cautious with what I said, at least until I knew who I could trust there.

So instead, I sent a basic message: ‘No problem. I’ll be there in 30 minutes.’

Hopefully, that would suffice.

I started the car and began to back up when I received a reply.

‘Perfect! See you soon! Happy Monday!’

Happy Monday.

I didn't even bother to reply as I headed started down the street toward downtown. Then I realized, I had no idea where I could even buy designer items. I pulled over to the side of the road and opened my maps, typing in ‘luxury shops’. Soon enough, a high-end bag store appeared and thank heavens, it was near the recording studio.

I hit ‘get directions’ and followed the blue line to the shop. I parked on the street and entered the building. I probably looked like a deer in headlights as I walked through the large glass doors. Everything on display was bright in color and set upon lined, pure white shelves. The lighting from extravagant chandeliers shone down from above, emphasizing the appearance of the bags showcased.

"Can I help you?" a friendly voice asked as I stood by the front door, unsure of where to even start.

An older woman, around mid-fifties, approached me. She was wearing clearly expensive clothing, dressed in a black midi-skirt and chiffon blouse, which I took that as a sign that I was in the right place. Especially if I was looking for something for Anne.

Wait, that was it. There was no way they wouldn’t know who Anne was. If I knew of her, they clearly did too. Maybe they’d know what she’d like. I could use it to my advantage.

"That would be great," I smiled and couldn't help the relief that came through my voice. "I'm actually in here trying to buy a gift from my boss for a Miss Anne Gordon. Perhaps you could help point me in the direction of something that she might like?"

"Oh, yes!" the older lady exclaimed, looking more excited as soon as I used Anne’s name. "Miss Gordon is a frequent customer of ours and I am sure that I can find something that would make her very happy. Did you have any ideas? Or a budget that you are looking at for today?"

I felt like saying ‘no budget’ was the worst idea, so I avoided that and instead, gave the details Amber had provided me with.

"He said that she’s a big fan of handbags, so maybe something in that department?" I chipped in. I had a feeling that I didn't even want to know how much it would cost.

"Perfect. We actually just got a few of the new releases in the other day, and I am sure that Miss Gordon would love them. Give me one second and I will bring them out for you to see."

She stepped away, leaving me in the store by myself once more.

I saw a gorgeous white flowy top hanging on the rack in front of me and reached forward to look at the price, just to see how much it was…

I shouldn't have looked.

It was over a thousand dollars for that single satin shirt! I felt nauseous as I dropped the tag, too scared to even touch anything in the store now. The clothes were absolutely stunning, and I wondered what I would look like in them, but I knew now that it would never be in the books for me.

I folded my hands together and waited patiently for the sales rep to make her return. It didn't take much longer for her to walk back out carrying three fancy white boxes. She set them down on the long counter by the register and I made my way to her.

By the time I reached her, she had the lid off the first box and I looked down to see the basic small black clutch with a delicate gold chain. It looked like fine quality leather, and I was sure that the price reflected that as well.

"This one is gorgeous," I said breathlessly, and the older lady smiled in response. "What do the other two look like?"

She proceeded to take the lids off both of the other lids simultaneously and reveal the contents inside. One was a crossbody bag that was bright red, and I instantly ruled that out. The final one was another black handbag, slightly bigger than the clutch, with white stitching and a braided black and leather shoulder strap.

"I think I will have to go with the black and white handbag," I noted, even though I personally couldn't keep my eyes off the gold-strapped clutch. "The colors just perfect match her modern style I think."

"I think that's a great choice, and I agree that Miss Gordon will love it." Her smile was genuine, and I felt a warmth fill up inside me. I heard these people worked off commission, but for some reason, I felt that this woman actually did care about her work. "Would you like me to wrap it up for you?"

"Um, yeah, that would be great, thanks."

I started second-guessing myself and wondered if I should have picked the awful bag just because I disliked her and Mr. Withers, even though I knew I would never actually do that. I was too respectful and professional with my outside relationships. But I could fantasize.

"Are you sure that you don't want the other bag as well?" the friendly clerk asked, bringing me out of my thoughts. She noticed that I was still looking at it as I zoned out. "I can wrap that one up as well."

"Oh no," I replied, putting my hands up. "No, no, no. Just the one bag is good for now."

She nodded and continued to package it as I watched her put one the finishing touches.

"How will you be paying today?" she questioned softly.

I opened my wallet and pulled out the card that I was given on Friday that I hadn’t returned, handing it over. It said Withers Record Label Inc. along the bottom of the card.

She handed me the receipt and I tried to ignore the four digit charge above as I signed my name on it. Then, I grabbed the wrapped gift and took off for the office.

Amber was on the phone as I walked into the building, but she gestured for me to come up to the desk as she wrote on a piece of paper. Once I got up close enough she held up her note for me to read.

"He's in Recording Booth A."

My exhaustion was starting to catch up with me, and the day had just started, so I didn't even bother to reply before turning around and heading back to the elevator. It began to move again and I had to stifle a yawn. The doors opened up to the recording floor that I was on almost three days ago—when in reality, it felt like hours—-and I stepped out.

Most of the lights were off still, so I was sure that most hadn’t shown up for the day yet. It was still fairly early, just past 8:30. Only, for some reason, it felt emptier than usual. I walked toward Booth A, carefully holding the gift as if it was fragile.

Maybe it's just because I knew how much it cost.

As I cracked open the door to the booth, I suddenly heard a heated voice and paused, unsure of whether I should continue in. Was he yelling at Brett? That didn't seem likely, since he was still trying to impress him as a signed agent.

I stepped forward to try and hear what was going on when I heard a echoed low voice that was pretty much screaming out curses left and right. The room was small, so I was able to see Mr. Withers now and I noticed that his shoulders were stiff and his fists were clenched. He was sitting there on the phone and there wasn't a Brett in sight.

I stood there awkwardly as I realized the situation, and didn't want to be caught looking like I was eavesdropping, even though I hadn't heard anything. So I stepped backward and tried to make my way out before he noticed me.

But the door was stuck.

"God damnit, Matthew! What the fuck were you thinking?!"

Who was speaking to him like that? The voice sounded older and somewhat familiar. Then I realized where I had heard it before. It was his father. There was a sudden pain in my chest. Nobody deserved to be treated like that, especially from family.

When there was no break in the cursing from the deep male voice on the other end of the line, Mr. Withers simply ripped the phone away from his ear aggressively and pressed the end button. He hung up on him. I tried to move the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge.

My fingers slipped as they tried to grasp a hold of the handle, and as soon I stopped to check my surroundings, I saw Mr. Withers facing in my direction.

His face was already red and sour, and it didn't get any better as he looked at me. The anger seemed to boil over the top as he saw me standing there. His hand was still balled tightly into a fist. I felt like I was watching a cartoon and steam was about to billow out of his ears.

Except this wasn't a show. And this wasn't going to be fun.

I bit my lip, already preparing for the tirade that I knew would be coming my way.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?!"